Trust
by neotantrika
Summary: Alternate universe story, set five years after the end of the series. Bitter at what she believes to be her betrayal at the hands of her "best friend", Annie Walker sets out for revenge. She finds him, and finds a truth she had not suspected.


**title**: trust  
**author**: neotantrika  
**fandom**: Covert Affairs  
**pairing**: Annie Walker/Auggie Anderson  
**rating**: NC-17 for graphic sex  
**warnings**: AU, rather dark, some character deaths  
**disclaimer**: The characters in this story belong to the creators of Covert Affairs, not to me.

**author's note**: This story had a strange genesis. Having just finished writing one story about a character regaining a lost sense, my mind immediately turned to another, Auggie Anderson from _Covert Affairs_. But then, while watching an episode, it dawned on me that the entire show is built on trust, the exploitation of trust, the re-building of trust. So I knew I needed to write a story about betrayal and redemption, and this story is what transpired. It's a slow build, but I hope you'll think it's worth it.

Annie Walker knew three things for sure: his name was _not_ Auggie Anderson, he was _not_ blind, and when she found him, she was going to shoot the son of a bitch stone dead.

They paroled her from Hazelton, the women's prison for federal offenders, after only five years. She'd been hoping for three but the CIA insisted on a longer detention or maximum security. Actually, they'd probably have preferred her dead or locked away in solitary, but her very expensive lawyer had managed to head them off. So when she walked out of the intake office on a sunny Friday afternoon, Danielle was waiting for her.

Danielle leaned over and opened the passenger door. Annie got in. It had been five years and seven months since she had ridden in a passenger car uncuffed. "Thanks for picking me up."

Not answering, not looking at her, Danielle put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, through the chain link gate and past the guard house. She drove in silence. The West Virginia summer was winding down into a gold-leafed autumn, but Annie had little interest in scenery.

"How are the kids?"

"In school."

"Do you ever hear from Michael?"

Danielle turned her head and gave her sister a searing look. "Only when he wants to swap custody weekends. He's engaged, you know."

A little shock went through Annie. It was hard enough to think of Michael leaving the family he said he'd loved, let alone hooking up with another woman. "I'm … I'm sorry to hear that."

Danielle blew out her breath in a gusty sigh, eyes on the winding two-lane road. Dappled sunlight played over her face, painting it in shadows and light. "Yeah, well, I always thought he was a tiny bit untrustworthy. Remember back when he got laid off, and didn't tell me for weeks? That's when I knew he was selfish enough to lie to me, so he'd be selfish enough to leave when...you know."

Annie cringed inside. Another failure laid at her door, another disaster she could be blamed for, rightly or not. "_Damn_ Auggie," she said to herself.

"What's that?" Danielle said, slowing for a turn.

"Nothing. Bad habit I picked up inside, talking to myself," Annie said.

Danielle looked over, looked away, her lips pressed together.

"What?" Annie said. It was amazing, how alert she was these days to every nuance of expression, every undertone. "What's wrong?"

"Have you … heard from him? From Auggie?"

Annie pressed her lips together. "No. Wish I had, though. Have you?"

Danielle shook her head. "No one has. Or at least, that's what they tell me once a week, during our usual interrogation."

Annie scowled. "I hate that they're still bothering you," she said. "You had nothing to do with what happened. With Auggie."

Danielle's voice was raspy with anger. "They don't care. I'm just someone they can harass. Because they can."

"Yeah," Annie said softly. "I know." It shamed her that she had once been part of that.

_Damn_ Auggie.

It took nearly a month, but she finally found a job. Good translators were always in demand, and while she could never again pass the background check to qualify for a security position, there was still plenty of work for someone who could do simultaneous. She found a translation bureau that specialized in legal cases, and settled into their basement offices in the Federal building. Danielle offered to let her stay with her indefinitely, but it saddened Annie to see the tiny apartment she and the girls now shared, instead of the comfortable Georgetown home they'd once loved. As soon as she could, she got a one-room apartment in DC-it was tiny, it was cheap, and it was too close to the freeway, but it had a lock on the door and it was within the locale her parole officer demanded.

She waited six months before she started her search.

"Hey," Carl said as she came in one morning, bearing lattes and doughnuts. "You bucking for a promotion?" He took his coffee-mocha almond, no sugar-and a glazed. His uniform was already spotted with sprinkles from an earlier snack. He watched as she signed in.

Annie smiled at him. "Just trying to be friendly. Hey, I might be working late tonight. Let Fred know?"

Carl nodded, munching. She strode off to the stairs. She could have taken the elevator, but after five years in stir, she was no longer happy in small, confined spaces. She came to the offices of the translation bureau. It was empty, as she'd known it would be. Her boss and the other translator both had assignments that day, translating for non-English-speaking witnesses during a trial. She'd have the office to herself.

She locked the door behind her and booted up her computer. It took her only seconds to bypass the firewall and the packet sniffers on the courthouse records division-using tricks Auggie had taught her. She pushed down the sick feeling that always caught her stomach when she thought of him, of how they had laughed and teased as he initiated her into the world of high-tech spying. Three hours later, she sat back, rubbing her back. Bending over a keyboard had its drawbacks. She finished off her cold coffee and thought.

She had not expected to find him right away. He was, after all, Auggie. How to find a guy who was a master hacker, CIA spy _and_ Special Ops veteran? It would seem impossible, but she'd had five years to plan her search. She had remembered how intense, how passionate he had been in support of his buddies during that op in Iraq. She had the names now of a couple of members of that unit, now in civilian life. It was a place to start.

She had to pound on the door with all her might to be heard over the loud music blasting behind the door of the weathered frame house. She was raising her fist to do it again when the door suddenly opened and caught her with her arm raised.

The guy was half drunk, bleary eyed, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt that said "Green Zone Tag Team-You're It" on it. He had a beer in one hand. "What?" he said.

She leaned in to be heard. "I'm looking for Auggie," she yelled.

"What?"

"_Auggie!"_

"Hang on." He waved her in as he half-stumbled across the room to the stereo and turned it down. Annie stepped into the living room, which was littered with old take-out cartons and beer cans. It smelled like a locker room. The guy stumbled back. "Who're you?"

"My name's Annie," she said. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "You're Jack, right? You were with Auggie Anderson in Iraq?" She named the unit.

"Yeah. But you're not supposed to know anything about that. You a cop?"

"I'm trying to find him."

Jack shrugged and knocked back the rest of the beer. "Haven't heard from him."

"It's very important that I get in touch with him," she said, giving him a big smile. He did not seem moved. She dug into the back pocket of her jeans. "If you see him, could you ask him to call me?" She handed him the fake business card she'd had made.

He took it and held it up, trying to focus. "Department of Justice? You're with the DOJ? Hey, Auggie ain't done nothin' wrong. I can swear to that."

"You've seen him?"

He frowned, sticking the card in his breast pocket. "Nah, like I said. But we were in the Zone together. I know he wouldn't do nothin' to attract the DOJ's attention."

Annie cocked her head to one side. "Were you with him when he was injured?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah. He was on a solo mission, real hush-hush. Then the next thing we knew, he was in hospital and then shipped home. But I tell ya, Auggie Anderson was a stand-up guy. _Is_ a stand-up guy."

"Tell your stand-up guy that Annie wants to talk to him," she said. He blinked, swayed, and watched her walk out of the front door and down the steps.

One down, five to go. Maybe one of them had heard from him. Probably not.

The phone rang at her desk three days later, while her office mates were at lunch. Annie was concentrating on the phrasing of a complex legal term from English to German, and picked it up absently. "Yes?"

"Annie."

She sat bolt upright. It was his voice, exactly the same. "Auggie!"

"Well, not really, but 'Auggie' will do," he said. His voice was relaxed, easy, the way it used to be when they sat up late listening to Charlie Mingus and arguing over old movies. "You wanted to talk to me."

She wanted to do more than that. Various and assorted tortures drifted through her mind. She closed her eyes, focused on keeping her tone cool and reasonable. "Yes," she said. "Just wondered if you had some time to chat."

"Chat?" Amusement, and a little sadness. "Annie, don't. Don't insult us both."

"Okay. But I still want to talk to you."

"So talk."

"Not on the phone."

A chuckle. She remembered that laugh, the way his lips curved, the way that grin could light up his face. Damn the man. "I'm not stupid, Annie. You might be a better shot than you used to be."

She gripped the handset, realized her palms were sweating. She swallowed. She could sacrifice a little pride, just a little of her hard-won dignity, for what she wanted. "Please." It came out harsher than she wanted.

There was a long silence. There was no background noise, she noted. No traffic, trains, music, nothing to tell her where she was calling from. "Well, since you say 'please'," he said. "There's a coffeehouse around the corner from your office. Very public, and a favorite of the marshals who guard the courthouse, so if you're planning on any gunplay-"

"I'm not going to shoot you, Auggie. Or whatever your name is. I just want-" Her throat had suddenly gone dry. "I _need_ to talk to you."

A long silence, but this time she could hear him breathing heavily. "Ten minutes." He hung up.

As she replaced her receiver, she wondered how Auggie had known where her office was-it had not been on her "calling card". She shrugged. It was Auggie. He would know.

He needed, as always, a haircut. It was the first thing she recognized about him-the shaggy hair in his eyes, the curl of dark hair at temple and nape. The coffee shop was full on this sunny afternoon, and patrons had spilled out into the outdoor area. He saw her first and was actually rising from the table when she walked up. His eyes met hers-_met_ hers-and a shock like cold water went through her.

He could see her. There was no question that his eyes were meeting hers, his gaze direct. Auggie was not blind. She'd known that, in a totally intellectual, detached way, but it was nothing like having those deep brown eyes meet hers with a living expression in them. The last time she'd seen him in person, he'd had the flat, blank gaze of the blind.

"Annie," he said softly. He almost sounded shy. He gestured her to a seat. She noticed he was wearing a light brown jacket over a yellow Oxford shirt-not the kind of thing he used to wear. And of course, there was no cane.

_What a consummate actor he is_, she thought. She sat down. There were two cups of coffee on the table-he had remembered what she drank. Of course he had. She made no move to touch the cup. God knew what was in it.

"Thank you for meeting me," she said. It cost her a lot to sit here and be civil with this son of a bitch, but she'd had five years to perfect the hiding of her emotions.

"Least I could do." He lifted his cup, drank, his eyes meeting hers over the rim. It was odd to see his movements, so unstudied and careless. And yet there was a hint of nervousness. Did he know she had a gun?

"How did you fake it? Being blind?"

He smiled, those red lips quirking up in a well-known curve. "Most of the time I was using eye drops that actually did make me blind for several hours. It was a bitch, but it was convincing. The rest of the time..." He shrugged. "After awhile, people saw what they expected to see."

Annie shifted, her hands folding on the purse in her lap, the purse that contained the nine millimeter illegal gun she'd bought two weeks before, in a dark alley behind a pool hall, for cash. She thought of the sound it would make when she put three rounds into him. If the cops around her moved slow enough, maybe she could make it four rounds. There could not be too many. "And your name really isn't Auggie, is it?"

His smile faded, and a guarded look came into his eyes. It was amazing, the expressiveness they held now, now when he was no longer pretending. "No."

They sat there, looking at one another in the warm sunlight. Awkward. How do you conduct a civil conversation with the lying bastard who sent you to jail? Annie cleared her throat. "I just … I just wanted to ask a few questions. Stuff that, you know, didn't come out at the trial."

Was that a wince? Did he actually wince? His glance dropped, he set the cup of coffee very deliberately on the table in front of him. "Annie, I … " He brought his hands up, those large, sensitive hands. "Annie, I can't tell you how sorry-"

"No!" She cut him off sharply. "No. You don't get to _apologize_ to me, Auggie Whoever. You don't get to be contrite, not after-" She bit her lip to shut herself up. _Don't lose control._

He ran his hand through his hair-was that a streak of gray? His eyebrows were still two straight bars over his deep-set eyes. "Yeah, I do. I need to. You weren't supposed to...it wasn't supposed to go down that way."

"So what am I? 'Collateral damage'? Isn't that what they call it? When you brought down _the whole department?_"

He clamped his jaw shut; she saw the muscles working along it. He lifted the cup halfway to his mouth, then set it down. "It was my job, Annie. You know what happened. You know it needed to be done. The mole was feeding intel to the enemies of our country. Was I supposed to let friendship trump that? Was I supposed to wink at treason because the traitor was your friend?"

"Yet Joan and Arthur-" Her throat closed up absolutely on that one. She hadn't meant to even mention them.

"They trusted you," Auggie said softly. His long fingers circled the rim of his coffee cup. "They … they fought for you, you know. All the way up to the Director. I did what I could, but-"

"What you could!" Her convulsive moment toppled the coffee cup, spilling it across the table. She paid no attention. "You did what you could? Your testimony, all your reports, they made me look like a stooge! They made me look like I was working with him!"

Those amazing, deep brown eyes met hers. "You knew him. They said you were his asset."

He was a stranger again, a man with a face of stone, remote, unknown. "Damn you," she whispered. Her eyes were filling with tears of anger, and she didn't even try to hide them. "You never even _asked_ me, did you?"

He stood, pulling keys from his pockets. The sudden image of Auggie behind the wheel of a car made her blink. "I never _asked_ you if you were a traitor?" His look was deep, unfathomable. "I didn't ask, because I knew you weren't."

She was exhausted by the time she got home. Mostly, she thought, it was exhaustion from holding back her rage and grief all day. She had gone to the coffee shop fully prepared to shoot Auggie Anderson (or whatever he called himself now) dead. She wanted to. She meant to. But she hadn't, and she wasn't sure why. Because there had been so many cops and marshals around? Not likely. Annie didn't even care if they gunned her down, as long as she could see the light die out of the eyes of the man who had ruined her life.

But at the back of her mind, there was the image of her two nieces, of her sister. Did they really need to be once again linked to a scandal, to be once again hounded by reporters, agents, cops?

_Revenge is an expensive luxury,_ she thought. She tossed her purse, with the gun still in it, on the couch and went into the bathroom to wash her face. She stared into the mirror. She needed a haircut. She needed better makeup. Her face looked worn, old, tired. Used-up, she thought. Past thirty-five now, her life in ruins, starting over at an age when most women were settling into home, marriage, career, kids. She'd wanted those things once, with Ben Mercer-no, don't think of that. She thought about Jai Wilcox. She'd trusted him, flirted with him, and almost against her will felt attracted to him. He was the kind of career man a woman could build a life with. Or so she'd thought. Until the trial, and his testimony, showed her how brilliantly he had played her. She'd felt like a fool. Still did.

And Arthur and Joan...Her gut clenched, and she thought for a moment she was going to throw up. She had trusted them. They had trusted her. And to this day the investigators could not decide if their deaths were a murder-suicide, or a suicide pact. It was blamed on their failing marriage, but Annie didn't buy it, never had. They'd been murdered.

Two more wasted lives to lay at Auggie's feet. His testimony had been cold, unflinching, detailed, remorseless. He knew names, dates, incidents. The prosecutors wove them into a deadly net that had brought down the mole and his organization, whose tentacles reached all the way up to Arthur's office. Arthur hadn't been in it, but the disgrace cost him not only his job but his credibility-his testimony that Annie had not been involved was ignored.

No one had listened to Joan at all.

So Annie got an eight year sentence for aiding treason, just because she'd picked the wrong professor to learn Russian from.

If Ramsay had not already died long ago, Annie would have been happy to do it for him.

Which left Auggie, the chief witness. She had had to watch the trial on closed circuit television, as a "security" measure. That it was unconstitutional didn't bother the judge at all. Courts that could swallow the Patriot Act had no trouble refusing to let her confront her accuser, for "security" reasons.

Annie opened the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet, looking for a Xanax. She would need something to calm her down so she could sleep. No luck. She was out. She closed the mirror.

She glanced at the reflection. Auggie was standing behind her in the door of her bathroom.

Annie whirled, nearly fell, clutched the edge of the sink behind her. "What-get out!"

He stood quietly, his hands at his sides. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"How did you get in?" Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He'd been Special Ops, the flimsy lock on her door would have been nothing. "What do you want?"

Maybe he was here to kill her, a last job for the Company. She thought of her useless gun, in her purse across the room. Could she get to it?

"Annie," he said patiently. He stepped back to let her exit the bathroom. "This won't take long, then I'll go. I'll never come back. But I wanted you to see this."

Slowly, carefully, he reached into his pocket and drew out a USB flash drive. He held it up and cocked an eyebrow. It was too weird, with his eyes meeting hers, seeing her, the light and life in them lending a whole new dimension to her memory of her friend. "I couldn't show it, out in the open, with so many people who might be eavesdropping."

"What is it?" She edged past him, moving towards the couch.

"I need your computer. You _do_ have a laptop?" He looked around. She took the opportunity to move closer to the couch.

"Over there," she pointed. He turned towards her tiny dining table, where her laptop bag sat under her folded newspaper. She lunged for her purse, dove her hand into it. When he turned, surprise on his face, she was holding the gun. Safety off, feet planted, she aimed at his stomach, the center of mass. "Don't move."

Something flitted through his eyes-pain? "I won't." He raised both hands. The left one held the flash drive. "But you need to see this."

"You ruined my life," she snarled. Why hadn't she pulled the trigger yet? What was she waiting for?

"Your life _was_ ruined," Auggie said carefully. "But not by me. I can prove it. Let me show you."

"You're lying."

He waggled his left hand. "You'll know for sure in five minutes. Then you can shoot me, okay?"

"I may shoot you anyway. You son of a bitch."

He cocked his head towards her laptop. "Come on, Annie. You're smarter than this."

"I got real dumb in prison, then," she said. But now he had piqued her curiosity. "What is that?"

"Video nobody was supposed to see," he said. He held his left hand out to her. "Ramsay's interrogation. The one they never allowed as evidence in court."

Annie lowered the gun slightly. "Suppressed?"

Silently, he offered her the drive. She held out her hand, and he laid it on hers. His fingers were as long as she remembered, delicate and strong. She curled her fingers around the video.

"Stay where you are," she said. She edged around to the tiny dining table, shoved the newspapers off her laptop. It was in sleep mode, and booted instantly. Without taking her eyes off Auggie, using her fingers, she found the USB slot and shoved the drive in. A window spiraled up, and then she was staring at an interrogation video.

The room was a neutral beige, as anonymous as any other interview room. Cuffed and seated on one side of the table was her former professor, and on the other two FBI interrogators. She reached out and turned up the audio.

"...brought in by Ben Mercer, weren't you?" one of the FBI men was saying.

The shock of hearing that name nearly numbed her. Her eyes flew to Auggie's, which were fastened on her with a meaningful stare.

"No, I brought _him_ in," Ramsay said. Annie blinked. Ramsay was completely different. Gone was the sweet, fatherly demeanor, the vague air of distraction that had characterized her old school professor. This man was focused, harsh, cold. "Mercer was supposed to be my first mole in the agency, but he got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked?"

"Fell in love with some girl."

The other FBI interrogator lounged against the wall. "Some girl? You mean Annie Walker, don't you?"

Ramsay scowled.

"You recruited Annie Walker into your operation when she was your student."

"No. That was supposed to be Mercer's job. He blew it."

Annie gasped. Ramsay was exonerating her?

The first FBI interrogator leaned over the professor, arms braced on the table. "You're lying, Ramsay. Walker was your asset, you used her to infiltrate the Domestic Protection Division. How much intel did she pass to you? How much were you paying her?"

Ramsay was shaking his head. "No, it wasn't her. Conrad was the only mole I had in that division. Most of the intel came from my guy in NCS-"

The second FBI interrogator slammed his hand on the table. "_Fuck that! _Do you think we're stupid? We have video of you two meeting, of Walker and you at lunch, at your office. She was passing intel to you and -"

"No," Ramsay snarled. "_Conrad_ was my asset, and you _stupid_ sons of bitches never saw it. Conrad."

The FBI agent lounging against the wall said, "Mighty convenient for Ms. Walker, then, that Conrad is dead, and can't deny that."

Ramsay's face went blank, then cold. "You bastards. Did you make it look like suicide, or an accident?"

Annie's finger came down on the PAUSE key. She felt cold all over. She looked down at the gun in her hand, as if seeing it for the first time. Carefully and slowly, she laid it on the table. She sat down. Auggie came to stand by the laptop.

"Conrad," she whispered. "It was … Conrad?" She remembered the young, fresh-faced man who had first visited her at the Farm, who had escorted her to Langley on her first day. "_Conrad?_"

"He was in it, up to his neck," Auggie said harshly. "He fooled us all. It was a superb job."

"They knew." Her throat was dry. "They knew it wasn't me. They _knew_. And yet..." She closed her eyes. She felt dizzy. It had been hard, almost impossible, to believe her old professor had been a spy, had thrown her under the bus to save himself. Now she realized it was even worse-he'd tried to save her, and failed.

"They needed a scapegoat," Auggie said. He knelt beside her, facing her. "Conrad was dead. Ramsay died before the trial. That left only you. They had those tapes, of you and him meeting. They had nothing, really, on Arthur. They convinced the jury it was an asset meet, not two old friends. And this-" He waved a hand. "They 'disappeared' this whole conversation. It took me three years to find it.

"I broke Conrad's encrypted emails myself," Auggie said. "I took them to the DA, the Federal prosecutors. I took that video-which, by the way, I hacked out of the FBI's evidence database myself-to every judge who would give me an interview. Not one of them would overturn your conviction, or even offer you a retrial."

Questions jumbled in her throat, pushed at her. So many questions. Where to start? Who to ask? She opened her mouth, but what came out was a choking gasp. The pain that went through her stomach doubled her over.

"Annie?" Auggie hovered. "You all right? Do you want some wat-"

She screamed. It burst out of her, raw and uncompromising, five years of fury and humiliation and bewilderment, and a broken, broken heart. It shot up from her deepest gut, from a place she'd shut away and ruthlessly ignored for nearly six years. And now it all broke from her. Gasping, weeping, she was hardly aware of falling forward, of Auggie catching her, lifting her, carrying her. He sat down on the couch with her, and she just curled up in his lap into a ball of agony and sobbed.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered against her hair. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I know that doesn't help, it doesn't mean anything, but oh God, Annie-" His arms went around her, tentatively, and then more solidly. "I'm _sorry_."

She looked for her anger, the anger that had sustained her for so many years. She couldn't find it. All she could find was pain and despair. She wanted the gun now, but not for Auggie. She wanted it for herself.

"Annie," he said. His hand came up to stroke her hair. "You don't have to believe me. I don't know why you should. But I tried. I … I spent years trying. The Assistant Director himself told me lay off, and I told him to go to hell. Then I got some phone calls..." He swallowed. "Hazelton isn't the most...secure prison. There were hints, about … incidents, attacks on you, if I didn't back off. So I did."

She squeezed her eyes shut. In that darkness, she was aware of him, the strength in his arms, the smell of him-of shampoo and aftershave and Auggie. The Auggie who had been her friend. Her trusted friend. "You never wrote."

"They would have read your mail. Remember what I am-a code breaker. I could have sent you the weather report and they would have read treason in it. I … I didn't want to bring even more trouble on you."

"Auggie..." A cry of pain, of despair. Of longing. "Auggie. I _hated_ you."

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close. "I know. You had to hate me. What else would have let you survive?"

"Auggie..." So much she wanted to ask.

"I'm sorry, Annie." Wetness dropped on her cheek-he was crying? "I tried. I _tried_. It wasn't enough..."

The cool, self-confident operator she had seen that morning had disappeared. Who was this man, whose trembling shook them both?

Auggie. He was Auggie. He really was, no matter what he called himself.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "Or shoot me."

Unexpectedly, she laughed. "Hell of a choice."

For answer, he pulled her closer, until her face was in his shoulder and she was supported, rocked in strong arms. She remembered being pinned by those arms in combat training, remembered the feel of muscle in his bicep when she "guided" him around. She could have laughed, bitterly, at how many times she had "guided" this fully sighted man around. Certain scenes came back to her, and she flushed.

"Damn you." She pushed herself away from him, his arms falling around her waist. "Damn you. I changed clothes in front of you! The locker room, the gym, the women's restroom-you _pervert_."

The grin that broke across his face was pure, old-school Auggie. "Yeah. My only perk."

"You invaded my privacy!"

"Hey, I never asked you to strip!" He held up his hands. "You just went ahead and did it. It never occurred to you that even a blind man knows the sound of a woman taking her clothes off?"

"You-"

She should kick him out and then get drunk. Very drunk. Bitterness and despair washed over her. Bad enough she'd been unfairly condemned, stuck in a hell hole for five years. But now, it was all for nothing. The Bureau, the Agency had known, and done nothing. She was not naïve enough to think that anything could be set right after all these years. In that light, a little peek-a-boo five years ago was nothing.

She closed her eyes, and against her will, sagged against his chest. She was so tired. So tired. Emotionally exhausted, after carrying this burden of anger so long. "I need to sleep," she said.

Without a word, he gathered her to his chest, rocked forward off the couch, and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down gently. She kept her eyes closed, felt him remove her shoes, pull a blanket over her. She should shoot him, she thought. She meant to. She intended to. She bought the gun special, just for him.

She slept.

The smell of coffee woke her. Rich and deep, it teased her awake. She opened her eyes.

The window was dark, with the glare of neon and the blare of the highway just remote enough to tell her it was after midnight. The only light came from the ventilator hood over her stove in the tiny kitchenette. Someone was moving around in there.

As she swung her feet to the floor, Auggie turned towards her, a plate in each hand. "All you had was eggs and bread and coffee," he said. "You should eat."

She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to shoot him. She wanted him to put his arms around her again. She was hungry. "Okay," she croaked.

She hobbled over to the table, which he had cleared. There was no sign of her gun. He would probably have disarmed her before she could use it anyway, she thought dully. He held her chair for her, waited until she sat. He poured coffee, shoved it over to her. It smelled delicious.

"When did you learn to cook?" she said. The eggs were scrambled just the way she liked.

"It's eggs and toast, Annie," he said. "Hard to screw them up."

She couldn't think of anything else to say. They ate in silence, but it was like the old silence between them-comfortable, friendly.

Friendly.

_Damn_ Auggie.

She put down her cup. "What do I do now?"

He raised his cup. Weird, to see him drink without feeling the rim to see how full the cup was. "What do you want to do?" He put down the cup, his lopsided smile echoed in his eyes. "Apart from gutting me, I mean?"

She shrugged. "I wanted revenge. Then I thought... I thought I could clear my name."

His expression darkened. "I don't think you can," he said slowly. "Not now, anyway. Ten, fifteen years maybe, when this is old news. But now, they need you as the fall guy."

"Or dead," she said.

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Or dead. They would prefer that. Neater that way."

She swallowed. "If I try to make this right, if I try to get that video introduced, they'll come after me."

He put down his fork, looked steadily at her. "They won't just come after you."

"After me?"

"They'll come after Danielle. After the children."

She could see it-the 'accident' on an icy road, the 'home invasion', the quiet murder of her loved ones. Nothing she could prove, only something she would rave about to a dismissive public, one which had already written her off as a traitor, or close to it. She swallowed. "Yeah," she said.

His hand crossed the table, took hers. How warm he is, she thought. "Annie," he said softly. "Listen to me. We can't make it right, what happened to you. We can't fix it. If I could go back in time, if the world were different, if this country was not so paranoid it's giving away its liberties with both hands, yeah, maybe after years of lawsuits we could get a piece of justice. Not all of it, but some. And then what?"

He released her hand. "I fought for this country. In your way, so did you. And this is your reward. If you overturned your conviction, so what? Would you go back to the CIA, even if they'd take you? Do you think the FBI or any other law enforcement agency would have you? No. You know that."

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. Damn Auggie. He was always right. "You think I should just shut up, let it go, run away? Keep my mouth shut?"

Keeping his eyes on hers, he rose and came around the table. He knelt. His hands cupped her jaw. "Annie Walker, I think you should go live your life. To hell with the CIA. To hell with all of them. Live. Find … find someone to … to love. Make a home. Make a future."

She met his eyes again (incredible, that amber brilliance) and something trembled there, hesitant, shy.

_Love?_

"I can't think," she said breathlessly. "Give me time."

"Time?"

"What do you want from me, Auggie? Forgiveness?"

"If I can get it."

"And if not?"

"Tell me to go. You will never see me again." He released her face, sat back.

The noises from the world outside had muted as dawn approached. In the light from the kitchen, his face was sculpted in planes and angles, masculine, hard. She saw the long column of his neck, the Adam's apple in stark relief, the collarbones meeting above the open collar of his shirt. She'd seen his naked torso, knew that under those clothes was a tough, hard body. A survivor's body. She sat thinking about Auggie's body as the seconds ticked away, it was the only thing she could focus on right now because he was here, right here, and she just could not think about the rest of it. Deception, betrayal, reversals of fortune. Joan and Arthur, dead in their home; Michael walking out on Danielle when the publicity got to be too much. Jai, abandoning her without a word. The cold gazes in the courtroom, the jury's implacable stare. And five years of measured meals, confinement, fear, boredom.

For five years, she'd thought of Auggie as the author of all her troubles. It should be hard to let go of that, but it wasn't. Underneath the anger, there had been this memory-his arms. The wide shoulders. The comfort of him. She slid forward, and his arms came up to embrace her.

He buried his face in her shoulder, his arms around her. "Annie." It came out as a groan, a whisper, an ache spoken aloud. No other words would have told her as much as that tone, and the tension in his arms.

She wound her fingers in his hair, pulled his face up to hers, and kissed him. His mouth was soft, then tense with shock, then soft again with surprise and happiness. His lips were soft and wide, sensual and slow. His mouth opened under hers and she tasted his tongue (coffee and tears), felt it dance against hers, felt his big hands slide up her back, wide, enclosing her. He slid his thumbs up under her ears and tasted, teased, savored. Annie heard her blood rushing in her ears, felt herself going warm all over. _Auggie_, her mind said, and it had a different flavor to that sound now. _Auggie_.

He broke, breathless. "I think I've been wanting to do that since about ten minutes after I met you," he said.

"Ten?"

"It would have been five, but I had special training in resistance," he said. He kissed her again, deep and soft and slow and wet.

She let herself melt, let out the tension and pain, felt her limbs going slow and heavy. He wrapped her in a deep embrace again, raining kisses on her hair, her face, her neck, coming back over and over again with slow, wet kisses. His mouth, oh his mouth. So mobile, so expressive, so sweet. She could not get enough of it.

This was definitely not how she had started the day. Didn't she start it wanting to kill this man? The absurdity of it bubbled up, broke over her barriers, and then she was laughing into Auggie's kisses, pressing her forehead to his, huffing out her breath even as the tears fell down her cheeks. "What?" he said.

"This is nuts," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "But I like it. I like it a lot. Do you?"

"Oh, yes," she said. Her breath was coming short. How long had it been?

"No reason to stop, then, is there?" He didn't let her answer, but laid his mouth on hers again.

She could not ask, but she tugged at his shirt, and he understood. He stood up, bringing her with him, and she felt his biceps hard and taut under her fingers. With his mouth still locked on hers he walked them backwards to the bed, sat down on it and brought her with him. It was smooth, easy, practiced. Part of her mind, the part that still used words, remembered his reputation as a ladies' man and was wary.

The rest of her was on fire. He rolled so that they were side by side, his fingers busy with her buttons. She kissed his jaw, his neck, and fumbled at his buttons. Then his shirt was gone and the light from the kitchen showed him like flesh-colored marble, smooth and planed with flat muscle, skin like old ivory, and those mystical eyes.

He was pushing her shirt off. She caught his cheeks in her hands and locked gazes. "What do you see, Auggie?"

"You," he said. It was a breathless whisper. "I see you, Annie. As I saw you that first day, and every day after that." He caught her hands, brought them up to his lips, kissed her palms one by one. "Strong Annie. Sexy Annie. Smart Annie." He cupped her face, kissed her, let his kiss slide down her jaw to her neck. She pushed her shirt off, and he trailed kisses down her chest to where her breast swelled out of her brassiere. "Sexy, sexy Annie."

Why had he said nothing? she thought. His hands slid around her, tugged, and then pulled her brassier off and forward, down her arms.

"Mmmm..." He murmured, following the curve of her breast downward. When he came to her nipple, he kissed all around it, slowly, with tiny kisses, building the moment until he stroked across it with his tongue and she arched towards him. "Mmm yes. Gorgeous breasts," he said. "Gorgeous. The first time I saw them, naked, that time in the locker room, when you were changing? God, I thought I would lose it."

"Really?"

"Didn't you ever notice how often I turned away, or stood behind something?" He chuckled against her nipple, now taut and hard. He nibbled at it, kissed the soft skin around it, and slid into the valley between them. "You made me hard as a rock just thinking about them."

But you said nothing? she wondered.

His hands came up, gathered her breasts gently. He kissed them slowly, one at a time, alternating. His tongue was slow and wet on her nipples, seductive and sensual, taking his time. Annie felt the moans in the back of her throat.

It occurred to her that stopping him now would be a very painful form of revenge.

She dismissed that thought as his hands slid down to the waist of her trousers, sliding around and down, cupping her against him. His jeans met them and pressed, and she could feel the hardness against her and a wave of warmth went through her.

"Mmmmmmm." His breath ghosted across her skin, his fingers inched downward, under her waistband. Annie breathed him in, the smell of warm skin, a hint of masculine sweat, a whiff of coffee and laundry detergent. She pressed her face into his chest, letting his fingers slide downward, pushing at her trousers, urging her. His skin was warm and soft. He'd put on a few pounds since she'd last seen him, but it looked good on him. He looked mature, less boyish-until she saw that mop of hair and that reckless grin. "What?" she said.

Now the look in his eyes was very alive-lazy and sensual and hot. "I'm thinking of all the things I've always wanted to do to you," he murmured. "How soon do you have to be at work?"

A shiver went over her. "You can't tell me that's part of Special Ops training."

"Mmm." He nuzzled her neck, and his fingers pushed her trousers further down, past her ass. And stopped. "That's why they call it Special." He slid her panties down, and she felt the cool air on her skin. But again, he stopped when her panties were around her thighs.

"What are you-" she freed her hand and felt for her clothes, trying to push them down and off. His hand caught hers.

"Shh...let me. Sexy Annie..." His lips teased her nipple again, totally distracting her. He brought her hands together, locked them in one of his large hands over her head. He licked her nipple slowly, wetly, then blew on it. She drew in her breath, hissing, as the cool air sent goosebumps all up and down her torso.

"Now this..." Auggie said, bending his head down to her ear. "Is _my_ kind of Braille. The kind I read with my tongue." She felt it, hot and wet, slurping down her body, rounding up under the underside of her breast, finding all the places that made her shiver and dance under his hands.

She wriggled, half naked. "Auggie?"

"Mmm?" His tongue trailed down her neck, past her collarbone, taking inventory. "Your eyes are so beautiful. I love this mole here. What?"

"Auggie..." She was past speech.

"Shh. I think you'll like this. Oh, you have such beautiful skin, Annie." He ran his tongue down between her breasts, curling his whole torso forward. His other hand, the one not holding her wrists, slid like water down her side, her belly, to her hips. And inward.

Annie gasped as his fingers walked across her soft stomach, fluttered as they danced through the curls at the base. Then they slid between, and she realized why he had locked her legs together with her pants. Caught like that, with his fingers squeezed like that between her thighs, he stroked and teased, used the pressure of her own body to arouse her. All she could do was squirm, which perversely made it better. She made noises she had never made before. Auggie, his mouth full of nipple, chuckled and changed the rhythm of his stroke.

His fingers. Oh, God, his _fingers_. How had she never noticed them? Long, strong, flexible, and exquisitely sensitive.

"Mmm. You're wet," he whispered, his lips moving against her breast. She closed her eyes as his fingers slowed, stroked. "Warm and wet. Nothing so lovely in all this world as a naked woman. Naked Annie. _Beautiful_ Annie."

She had stopped trying to pull her hands free and lay limply. "Auggie. Damn you."

She felt his grin against her belly. "Yeah. I knew you'd like it." Still moving his fingers in and out of her, he kissed his way up her torso, until he could look into her eyes. "You _do_ like it?"

She caught his bottom lip between her teeth. He laughed and turned it into a kiss, and his fingers plunged until she gasped. He jerked his head up. "Let go for me, Annie," he whispered. "Let me make you come, like I've always wanted to." His tone was soft, sad. "Let go."

Always wanted to? Why didn't he ever-oh, _God_. She detonated against his fingers, senses overloading, her whole body shuddering down through the tight spiral of her release.

"Yes!" Auggie laughed, and his mouth came down on hers, hard, demanding, riding her climax with her, stroking and kissing until she moaned and slumped, exhausted. He had already released her hands when he slid his arms around her, folded her close to him, resting his head in her hair. "Annie, Annie, Annie..."

She clutched at his shoulders, took in great ragged gasps of air. "What. The. Hell. Was. That."

He leaned back, looking down into her face. She had never seen laughter in his eyes before. How glorious those eyes were. Brown and deep and soft, full of-

No. Not... not that. "Auggie?"

He tucked a strand of her hair out of her face. "Yes," he said, answering the question she had not asked. "Since the first day I saw you."

"But you never...why didn't you..."

His smile twisted a bit, as if he tasted something sour or bitter. "The _first_ day. Remember? We had that little pep talk, and you told me all about Ben Mercer and how you loved him forever and were pining for him. I didn't … I couldn't tell you what I was, who I was, that my mission was about something else. I hoped to keep you out of it. I wanted, oh God how I wanted to tell you the truth. But I was confused and afraid to involve you in something so dangerous. And I didn't _want_ to have to lie to you. Although," he said, expression sad. "In the end, that's exactly what I did. And I hope you'll forgive me."

She twirled a finger in his hair. "You have one hell of a way of apologizing, I'll give you that."

He grinned, and the room got lighter. "Oh, that was just the preamble." With the reflexes of a ninja, he rolled free of her, pulling her trousers, her panties, everything off in one quick jerk. Even as she gasped at her sudden nudity, she felt herself going soft and limp and warm and ready for him. He stood, and again the light from the single kitchen light was kind to him, outlining him in shining lines of gold and ivory. He slid off his jeans, and she smiled wide as she saw him hard and ready for her. His reputation with women was suddenly perfectly justified.

"Apologize to me again," she said, reaching for him.

He almost dove onto her, and she opened wide for him, and he slid in sweet and full and hard inside her. Annie arched, seeking more of him, and his breath in her ear was fast and hot. "Annie..."

She felt it in every molecule of him, the reaching for her, body and soul, the way he trembled even as he took, the way his mouth could not,_ could not _stay away from hers, the gentle glide of him alternating with the strong hands that held and tightened and would not let her go.

He was good at this, a corner of her mind said. Damn good at it. _Lots_ of practice. But when he moaned in her ear, it was not practice or artifice. "Annie," he said, and his voice pleaded. "Annie. At _last_..."

She wrapped her arms around him, swung her legs up to capture him against her. He flung himself upward onto his hands, staring down at her as he thrust home, and locked his eyes on her.

"See me, Annie," he whispered. "This is me. The _real_ me."

She stared into those dark, mysterious eyes, full of secrets, full of her. She read what he had hidden there, for so many years. She read the longing and the pain and the desperate hope, the sorrow and the despair that matched her own. And she saw more. She saw love.

She smiled, and he gasped, and he shuddered, spilling into her and chanting her name over and over. "_Annie Annie Annie Annie..._"

She thrust her fingers through his hair, locked her mouth to his, held him while he subsided, until he put his forehead on hers and blew out a long breath.

"God," he breathed. "Annie. So much I wanted to say, to tell you. This isn't what I intended. But," and again that million dollar grin broke. "I like it."

"You didn't betray me," she said.

He closed his eyes, rolled off her, but gathered her close against his chest. "No. Sometimes it may have looked like that. We were in a minefield, Annie. And you were the blind one, not me. I couldn't even _hint_ about it to you, or you'd be dead. I … I never thought you'd believe me, much less forgive me." He looked at her. "I never betrayed you. I trusted you. I knew you would survive. But that is no comfort to you. What you went through, what you suffered...I can't even say how sorry I am. All I can do is ask for forgiveness." He took a deep breath. "Am I forgiven?"

She thought about trust, and how she'd thought he'd betrayed hers. But maybe she should have trusted him. Maybe she should have thought to look past the surface, to trust the instinct that even now told her he was telling the truth, the instinct that even five years ago had made him her "best friend". He'd fought for her, without even the hope of forgiveness. And now...

"What's your name? Your _real_ name."

He smiled, and put his mouth next to her ear, and told her.

She drew her hand down his face, smiled. "Apology accepted."

Annie Walker knew three things for sure: his name was _not_ Auggie Anderson, he was _not_ blind, and now that she had found him, she would love him always.

THE END


End file.
